


It Hurts to Breathe

by Ellegrine



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Batarangs (DCU), Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson Doesn't Know About the Batarang, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Thinks He Does, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Miscommunication, Never Repost My Work Anywhere, Post-Betrayal, Resurrected Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22158427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellegrine/pseuds/Ellegrine
Summary: There’s a batarang in Jason’s pocket. It hurt more than the crowbar.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Dick Grayson
Comments: 29
Kudos: 534





	It Hurts to Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a quote by Charlotte Featherstone: "It hurts to breathe. It hurts to live."

Jason Todd clenches his gun as someone grapples onto the roof. He bites down on his tongue, because, hell, this has to stop.

He turns to look behind him. He recognizes the footsteps and stride. He wishes he didn’t, because the last thing in the world that he wants to see right now is one of the traitorous Bat Clan. But even less than that is his level of trust for them being at his back.

Not even if he were surrounded by a hundred goons and out of bullets would Jason trust any of those traitors to guard his back.

“Hood, please, come home,” Dick Grayson — Nightwing — fruitlessly begs, like the dickhead he is. “You’re doing better. Come home. We can be a family again!”

There’s a batarang in Jason’s — Red Hood’s — pocket. 

It’s made of metal and smells like copper and blood flakes off it in red-brown patches when he scratches at it. Jason pulled it out of his collarbone after dragging himself out of the harbor, ears still ringing from the explosion.

This batarang hurt more than the crowbar. 

At least the Joker was his enemy. 

"Please, Little Wing! Just ... come home," Dick says, the white-outs of his domino raised and blue eyes shining with hope.

He takes a step backwards.

Dick follows.

Why? Why does he keep following? He can't possibly think that Jason will return to the Manor after what Bruce did.

Not even the first Robin can be _that_ idealistic.

Doesn't Dick understand yet how life works?

Jason once suffocated to death in an explosion, after being carved to pieces and rendered to bits, the Joker’s laughing, “Forehand! Backhand!” all he could hear.

Jason once clawed his way out of his own coffin, shattering every bone in his hands and losing all his fingernails and rubbing his fingers raw to the bone in the process; every breath he took tasted like dirt and worms. 

Jason was once thrown in the Lazarus Pit without his consent, and then used like a free tool by the League of Assassins that was so replaceable no one would even notice if he died; a hammer was a hammer was a hammer.

Jason has been shot so many times that he’s lost count. He’s been stabbed with a screwdriver in a back alley. He’s been beaten and kicked and punched and strangled and bruised and scarred and injured on an almost daily basis as far back as he can remember.

Jason’s life is a tragedy that he did not sign up for.

No one would willing sign up for this crap. Not even a masochist.

"We can be a family again! Come home, Little Wing. Give us a chance. Let's work things out. I miss you."

_Again?_

Jason shudders and fingers the batarang in his pocket as he listens to Dick ramble.

Despite _all of that,_ it's —

This — this one batarang that Jason pulled out of his collarbone — hurts more than all that crap combined. 

Because, hell, even when Jason was starving and dying in the Narrows, at least he hadn’t been stupid enough to trust anyone.

But ... if you can’t trust the Batman, who can you trust?

"Won't you come home with me, Little Wing?" Dick asks, offering Jason his hand and a hopeful smile.

Jason swallows the taste on his tongue. It won’t go away. No matter how much he swallows or what he eats or drinks, the taste won’t go away. He’s tried vodka, whiskey, and beer. He’s tried chili-dogs and neapolitan ice cream.

Not even his favorites can drown it out. It sits thick and cloying on his tongue, threatening to choke him each time he tries to swallow it.

All Jason can taste is _betrayal._

Because he gave Batman — Bruce Wayne, _his dad_ — a choice.

And his dad almost slit Jason’s throat open so that he could save the psychotic monster who _tortured Jason to death._

Dick's hand doesn't waver, though his smile dims slightly.

He can't believe Dick is asking him to return to the Manor after what happened. How ... how can Dick possibly think Jason will agree?

After what Bruce did, Jason just ... _he can't._

And if this is what family is, if this is how rich people think of family, then Jason never wants to see any of these jerks ever again.

Because Dick _has_ to know what happened. He and Bruce aren't fighting anymore. They're all buddy-buddy and working together again, aren't they? So ... Dick has to _know_ what Bruce did.

Right? _Right?!_

And here Dick is anyway, reaching out, as always, to try and fix Bruce's mistakes.

That's what Jason is, right?

A mistake. An imperfect blemish on the Wayne family.

"We can put it all behind us, Little Wing," Dick insists.

How is Jason supposed to forget that his dad, who has a strict no-killing rule, almost murdered _him_ to save a mass murderer?

_How?_

If family is taking the moral high-road, Jason doesn’t want Chelsea-Area Family.

Jason will take Crime Alley Family over _that_ every day of the week. Because in Crime Alley, if someone screws up your family, you screw them up even worse.

It’s real world justice for real world people. It’s not some fantasy game of right and wrong and black and white and absolutes.

And if that is all Jason can expect from the Waynes and the Bats and whatever other names they call themselves these days, then Jason wants no part of it.

He would rather be homeless and starving and alone. Jason would rather be — _crap!_ — he would take almost anything if it could get the taste of betrayal out of his mouth.

Because it’s so intense that it’s starting to fill Jason’s lungs, and he doesn’t want to drown in that. He doesn’t want to give Batman the _satisfaction._

But, hell, if Batman didn’t hurt him where the Joker never could. Screw the crowbar and maniacal laughter. It’s the one batarang — covered in dried blood, in his hand, that he pulled from his collarbone after his dad almost slit his throat open — that Jason can’t accept.

He deserves better.

“No.”


End file.
